All I Wanted to do Was Sail
by Otaku Nation
Summary: Arthur Kirkland never wanted this. When he finally realizes there's no hope for him and his crush Alfred, it looks like the end. And to think, all he'd ever wanted to do was sail... USUK stress relief writing. Very sad, but ends nicely. Rated T for mild language, boy x boy (yaoi), references, and blood. Do not like, do not read! Possible sequel if asked for... Enjoy!
1. All I Wanted To Do Was Sail

It was dark, and the darkness ebbed at my soul, making me feel so alone. Even though my breaths weren't strained it felt as if someone was constricting my throat. My eyelids felt heavy and tired and my head ached dully as if I'd been jolted awake too early. It was a mellow pain that I barely even felt through the stab wound in my chest.

That one was the worst. As I reached up to touch it with a surprisingly steady hand, the tightness in my throat began to get worse. I could only huff, turning my head away to the right, where nothin different laid.

I felt so alone, so very abandoned and sad. I was at my end, and as I though this, the threat of tear began to loom. As much as I wanted to cry, just ball up and sob away my loneliness like I'd done every other time before this, but I didn't. I couldn't. I could hear the loud engines of cars speeding past my building through the open window, feel the light pat of still falling rain as it made it through the blades of my fan.

The weather wasn't helping, and I turned away to my left. Now there was something to look at; a small, silver picture frame rested on my bedside table. Next to it sat a pair of glasses, one lens cracked beyond repair, and a small, velvet box. In the frame two smiling faces beamed out, nearly making the held back tears overflow. I shut my eyes and gritted my teeth before looking back.

In the picture we were holding hands, our faces turned away from the camera towards the colorful sunset ahead. I sighed as I reached out to stroke the glass over the second boys head, fighting the dull ache when I thought of him. His name was Alfred. He'd been so young, an I'd been so very alone; until one day I'd found him. I took him in when he was still merely a child; fed him, bathed him, loved him even. More than you'd ever know.

But then he grew up, and before I knew it, the small boy I once called mine was gone, swept away by the curious winds from the west.

It's been three years since he left. Three years of absolute, three years of Hell. I used to cry, used to crawl into the house at one AM, half dead and bleeding from various fights. I eventually started to realize something: he was never coming back. Once that sunk in I stopped rebelling against my pain and just let it flow, spilling out of me with each breath.

I still dream about him, and I hate myself for doing so. His smiling face, those gleaming, brilliant blur eyes he hid for a while under long bangs. That one piece of stubborn hair he'd affectionately named Nantucket. He'd been the light of my life, and then that light disappeared; blew out of my life as if it'd never existed.

Turning back to the ceiling, a single tear rolls down my face. I don't wipe it away, knowing that the flood would come if I so much as acknowledged it. My heart, it seemed, was broken long ago, though that boy made me forget about it. I can still remember the day I'd realized my feelings towards him. I'd started to push him away, afraid I'd hurt him or ruin what we had. But of course, what we did have was short lived, and at the age of 17, barely 10 years since I'd taken him in, he left.

There was a note, scribbled quite messily on a piece of notebook paper, saying he'd miss me and that he'd be back soon. I'd tried to call him, but he'd left his phone there. He didn't give me any information; no address, no contacts. He told no one where he was going or why he went, and for a while we were all very worried.

Then, nearly two months later, I'd received a letter in the mail. There was no return address and only one thing was written on the page inside: I love you. The handwriting was a perfect match to Alfreds', and the signature "Hero~" below it made it official. Alfred did care.

And that was the last thing he heard from his secret love. Many rumors went around the town; the most popular had been that Alfred had left to get away from his caretaker. That had made me very mad, but the rumors still got to me deep down, though I'd never show it. Then, yesterday morning, I received another letter. This one came with a return address labeled 'The Bat Cave, which made me smirk as I eagerly ripped it open. Inside was a picture and a note folded multiple times. The note read this:

Dear Arthur,

I know it's been a while, but I will keep my promise to you. Someday, I will come back to you, and we will see each other again. Right now I live in New York. I have a promising internship at a big company that pays really well. I'm sure you'd be proud of me.

There's this girl who likes me and I think I might ask her out. What do you think? Anyway, I'm sorry for not writing sooner, but I've been really busy lately with work and finding a place to rent.

Did you know there's a China Town in this city too? By the way, how's London? Been raining a lot, I bet!

Well, I gotta go!

With love,

Alfred F. Jones

The letter, along with the picture of Alfred and his "girlfriend" fell to the floor and drifted away from me. I'd stood still for a long time, just staring at my hands as they shook with mixed emotions. After a long time I walked slowly up the stairs and collapsed into bed, closing my bloodshot eyes. I slept for a long time. Almost a full day.

When I woke up I'd been numb, not able to move my arms or legs. I'd sat there for hours. Now I could move, but I still laid there, as if held down by invisible restraints, my face buried in my pillows.

I got up around noon and went to the living room, pausing to pick up the now dusty letter, and sat down. I wrote a quick response, trying hard to keep my tears from smearing the ink, and then cried until I was left gasping for breath on the couch. I licked and sealed the envelope, wincing as I gave myself a paper cut, and placed it into the mailbox outside my house.

It was pouring, and I couldn't help but feel that the rain was mocking me. I stormed back into my house and slammed the door just as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky.

"Shut up, will you?" I yelled at the sky outside for no particular reason. The thunder clap that followed sounded like a scoff, and I kicked hard at the door as if it would make nature stop raining.

The lights flickered off for a moment and then went dead, and I cursed under my breath. Great, just great! The wind outside had started to pick up, and I could hear howling gales shake my windows violently. Why did I even live in London of I knew the weather was so horrible? I hated rain and I always had!

A faint memory came to mind. Young Alfred and I were sitting outside, gazing at a warm sunset on a beautiful evening, later to e accompanied by bright stars. I'd said something, and the small boy gazed up at me with shining eyes.

"I love London!" he'd exclaimed happily. "It reminds me of you."

"Why?" I'd asked him, and he'd just nodded, looking back at the skies.

"Because, even though London can be pretty annoying at times, it has it's charming moments like this..."

London really can be a wonderful place if you just give it a chance."

As I remembered, an impressively loud clap of thunder echoed through the house. My vision, blurred my tears, made it hard to see as I rushed back to my room, trying to make it into the closet before the storm got really bad. It looked as if the whole world was being torn apart, and with a high screeching noise, all the windows blew in. Glass cut through my clothes and I screamed in pain, tripping over the rug and slamming against the wall as the air was ripped from my chest.

Blood was everywhere, and my breathing was becoming labored as the rain hit me like bullets. My eyes fluttered closed as a pounding ensued in my ears, drowning out the rest of the world. The beat matched my hearts' exactly, and it was very slow. The pain slowly faded away into an annoying prickling, and a floating sensation came over me.

It reminded me of my days on board a ship, when my father used to be a captain and we lived in luxury. That is, until he and my mother were killed in a raid. My little sister, who'd only been about a year old, had also died. I was all alone, suddenly, and I stayed that way until I was 11. At that time I'd run away from my foster home and taken a job in the city where no one would find me. I won money by gambling and eventually bought a house.

That's when I found Alfred, barely 7 years old, and hiding in a small field outside of town. He had no memory of his life, only his name and the clothes on his back. And, through all that time, they're is only one thing I regret not doing.

And that is teaching Alfred how to sail.


	2. On The Brink of War

I woke up three days later in the hospital. Apparently I'd been found unconscious from blood loss in my house after a terrible storm. No one knew how I'd lost all that blood, all they knew is that my front door had been open, I'd been slumped against a wall, and that my wounds had already been bound and treated. They'd told me it was a miracle I was still alive.  
But, really, none of their words mattered to me. The only thing I cared about was a certain man who'd come all the way from America to see me, and the brilliant smile on said mans face when he did. Alfred had come back, just like he promised, and he'd come with only one thing to say.  
"Arthur," he said as he held my hand in his. "I love you."  
And there was only one response I could give him that would be true.  
"I love you, too."


	3. Out At Sea

After being released from the hospital, holding hands and literally skipping with the giddy American beside me, he'd asked me what I wanted to do.

"We're a couple now, and you just got out of the hospital, so, what do ya wanna do?"

"Um," I thought about it for a second, then. "Sailing."

"Sailing? Why that?" he'd asked, confused.

"Just trust me. You'll love it."

And that's how, two hours later, Alfred and I were sitting together on a small sailboat, sharing a bottle of wine as we gazed out a the setting sun. I leaned over closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder. He leaned his on mine and sighed contentedly.

"I love sunsets," Alfred said, playing affectionately with a strand of my hair.

"Hm." I replied.

"You know why?" he asked. I shook my head no.

"Because they remind me of you."

"How?" I asked. He looked at me strange and I sighed. "How do they remind you of me?"

"This," he suddenly pressed his lips against mine. He tasted like wine and hamburgers, but before I could return the kiss, he pulled away. A bright smile rested on his lips as he teased me. "Is how you remind me."

"Wha-" he touched a finger to my lips and then poked each of my cheeks. I suddenly got what he was saying and pushed away from him as he laughed.

"Bloody git!" I said, trying hard not to smile. Soon, my resolve broke and I was grinning from ear to ear. Alfred leaned over to kiss me once again and I smiled, loving everything about this.

"Artie," he whispered once the sun was down and the stars were looking down on us like guardian angels. "I love you."

I laughed a bit and leaned into him.

"And I love you."


End file.
